


i think i'll go down in flames

by segmentcalled



Category: Polygon/McElroy Vlogs & Podcasts RPF
Genre: (but gentle), (kinda?), Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BDSM, Begging, Bondage, Bruises, Choking, Communication, Daddy Kink, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Hair-pulling, Hand Jobs, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation, Praise Kink, Slapping, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-26 20:43:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19776067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/segmentcalled/pseuds/segmentcalled
Summary: Someone runs their mouth a little too freely while recording an episode ofUnraveled.Gee, wonder who that could be?





	i think i'll go down in flames

**Author's Note:**

> _wouldn't ask you to join me_  
>  _'cause that would be insane but you can warm your hands_  
>  _i would stake out your place right here next to me_  
>  \- [lighting myself on fire,](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yay6zMDDklI) jukebox the ghost
> 
> [hipster voice] i [wrote](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19450939) [this](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19093987) BEFORE it was cool

Brian’s hand presses against Pat’s throat — not squeezing, just touching — as he slowly strokes Pat’s cock.

“You terrible thing,” Brian murmurs. “Saying such filthy things on camera. Moaning _oh, daddy_ like that, in front of god and everyone. And yet you can’t be half so shameless in bed. Is this a joke to you? Do you think it’s funny to call me _daddy_ for laughs? Or are you just being a brat and want me to fuck it out of you?”

Pat moans, as Brian squeezes his hand around his cock.

“Answer me, Gill.”

“Please, daddy, I’m so sorry, I’ll be good,” he gasps.

“Pretty words don’t mean shit if you won’t follow through.” Brian presses just incrementally harder on Pat’s neck, then just as quickly takes the pressure away — a threat, nothing more. “Or maybe you _like_ it like this. Want everyone to _know_ you’re mine. Want everyone to see that I own your ass. Is that right, Patrick?”

“Yes, daddy,” he whimpers, as Brian twists his wrist on the upstroke. “I’m sorry, daddy, I didn’t mean t — _aah_ — to make you mad — _fuck_ —“

“Language, Patrick.”

“I’m sorry — _ah_ — I —“

“Use your words, baby boy. I’ll have to take my hand off your cock if you can’t talk this way.”

Pat whines.

“Tell me what I should do to you, Patrick Gill. You want everyone to see that you’re mine? Maybe I should mark you up real good, leave bruises where you’ll never be able to hide them. Tie you up and fuck you till you _scream,_ since you want so badly to tell the world exactly how I’m fucking you.”

“Please, please,” Pat pants. _“Please.”_

“Please, what? You have to be more specific than that.”

Pat’s chest heaves with his harsh breathing, as Brian strokes him slow and steady. “Anything. Anything, _please,_ I’ll be so good, I — _nnh_ — I need you to — to make me _yours,_ show everyone, _ah,_ fuck me up good, please, please daddy, I want your bruises on me, I want you to fuck me so hard I can’t fuckin’ walk, please, make me scream, make me _cry,_ make me so so sorry, daddy.”

“Wow,” Brian breathes, breaking character a second. “You’d really let me do all that to you?”

“Baby, please, I’m begging you to,” Pat says, with a little laugh that breaks off into a groan as Brian jerks him harder, then takes his hand away entirely.

“Then buckle up, baby, we’ve got a big night ahead,” Brian says, with a fierce grin. He dips his head to — Pat expects a kiss to his neck area, but Brian bites down on his collarbone, fucking _hard,_ and Pat twitches at the unexpected pain. “I’m gonna tie you up and you’re gonna behave yourself, alright, pretty boy? Get,” he adds, with a smack to Pat’s ass, and Pat scrambles to where he knows Brian wants him.

They confer more as Brian looks for everything he needs.

“You really want visible bruises, Pat Gill? I can keep it to places you can hide if you try.”

“I really, _really_ want them. Anywhere you want to put them. Also I, uh. Simone saw my [tweet](https://twitter.com/Pizza_Suplex/status/1148703529651122176) and took me to buy some, like, foundation and shit. Makeuppy stuff. So. I can cover it come Monday.”

“Shit,” Brian says, softly stunned. “That’s good to know. Really anywhere, or do you have anywhere you’d like to veto?”

“Really anywhere. Fuck, if I were into it, I’d let you slap my fuckin’ face, just to leave a mark.”

“Patrick, you’re gonna kill me, Jesus,” Brian groans. “How hard do you want me to go?”

“Don’t hold back. For real. I know you’re always holding back when I tell you that and I always want you to go harder. You can fuck me up, Brian, I _want_ it. You can hit my ass, if you want to. Not, like, a lot — I just want to hear it — the impact — but you can bite and bruise and whatever the fuck else, wherever the fuck, and however much you want. Trust me. I know what I want, and I’ll stop you if it’s too much, okay?”

“Okay. Fuck, that’s hot. Jesus.”

Pat grins at him. “Fuck me good, daddy, I’m tellin’ you.”

“Hmm. Sassy little brat, aren’t you?”

“Maybe so.”

“See if I can’t fuck that out of you tonight,” Brian says. He’s just taken his belt off; he smacks it against his palm, which makes a nice sound. Pat wishes he liked spanking more, he’d _love_ the dramatics right now. “How much do you think you can take, baby boy? What if you come while I’m fucking you and I’m not finished? What happens then?”

Jesus Christ. Of course Brian knows how to hit his buttons — he’s got a very fucking specific list of them — but holy shit. “I’ll be so good for you, daddy, you can fuck me ‘till you’re done and I’ll take it, take all of it. I swear.”

“Mm. Brat, but with potential. I bet we can find those manners in you. Chin up, baby boy, you ready for this?”

“Yes,” Pat says, emphatically.

“Give me your hands, baby,” Brian says, and Pat offers them willingly. Brian takes his hands and presses a soft kiss to the inside of each wrist, before moving his arms to the appropriate place behind his back.

Brian is methodical, gentle, with a practiced hand; Pat’s let him practice this shit on him for hours, and it’s nice to just close his eyes for a few minutes and let Brian talk at him softly — well, more talk to himself in Pat’s direction, the steps for a basic box tie, even though he’s done it so many times he could probably do it in his sleep. He fusses anyway, though, because he’s good like that, makes sure everything’s perfect before he moves on.

“God, you look so fucking good like this,” Brian says, leaning back to appraise him. He kisses him, quick and soft, then again for good measure; Pat can tell he’s reaching for something, by the way his body shifts against Pat’s. Pat hums appreciatively when Brian pushes his legs apart to tease at him with now-lubed fingers. He moves with the same careful deliberation. He knows exactly how to get Pat to moan against his mouth, and applies this knowledge to great effect.

As soon as Pat’s breathing hard, desperate, Brian threads his fingers through Pat’s hair, kissing him sweetly — then fucking _yanks_ Pat’s head back and bites his goddamn neck. Pat’s breath catches on a whine and he feels Brian smile. Brian pushes Pat’s hair behind his ear and presses kisses to the side of his neck; he pauses beneath his hairline to suck a bruise into the sensitive skin there, at the same time as he works Pat open with his fingers.

He goes _devastatingly_ slowly. He keeps his word; he lingers at Pat’s throat, his chest, leaving what Pat knows will blossom into dark bruises. It thrills through Pat, the knowledge that his marks will be _there,_ even if he covers them up. He’s Brian’s and he’s fucking _grateful_ for it. Brian tongues at his nipples and bites and sucks and kisses at his skin, making Pat moan and gasp and whimper at him.

After what feels like an eternity, Brian speaks. “You okay if I get you facedown now? I want to make you scream into the pillows,” His tone is casual and lighthearted, like he’s telling Pat the weather report except that it goes straight to his fucking dick. Pat nods, biting his lip; Brian kisses his temple. “Good boy.” He helps Pat get settled, because Pat’s arms are bound behind his back and he can’t, uh, do all that much, under the circumstances.

Brian runs his fingertips along Pat’s spine, leaning down to hiss into Pat’s ear. “God, you terrible thing, causing so much fucking trouble for me. I should leave that in the final cut, see how you like it then, when _really_ everyone knows where you’re at. I could do it, too, people would _like_ it.” He rubs his thumb over the base of Pat’s spine.

“But you’ll know, and I’ll know, that I fucking own your ass, Patrick Gill,” he growls, and punctuates that with a smack to his ass for good measure. They don’t do a lot of — slapping, hitting, that sort of thing, Pat’s just not that into it, but he likes (and knows Brian _really_ likes) the showiness, the satisfying sound it makes on impact, and when Pat gasps his approval he does it again. Not hard enough to do more than sting, but god damn does it make a sound.

Brian presses a kiss to the back of Pat’s shoulder and pushes two fingers inside him again — Pat writhes, trying to arch up to take him — and Brian holds him down, his open palm at the small of his back. “Behave,” he says, low and stern and serious. “You’ll take what I give you, no more, no less. I shouldn’t have to say it, but you’ve caused enough trouble that it bears repeating: if you address me you’re going to be fucking _polite_ about it. Got it?”

“Yes, sir,” Pat gasps, as Brian curls his fingers deep inside him. He barely bites back against a curse, because he knows that’ll get him chastised — Brian does so love an excuse to lecture — and pushes his face into the pillow instead.

“Good. Fucking hell, Pat, you’re too pretty like this. I’m gonna make you scream, baby boy, and that is a goddamn promise.”

Oh, _fuck._ Delight and anticipation thrill through him; he has a tendency to go _quiet_ instead of loud, unless he gets to crying and then there’s a good chance he’ll fucking howl and beg — so what he’s saying, what he’s telling Pat — oh, he _better_ not pull his punches, he’s so ready for this.

Brian hesitates, just stroking Pat’s lower back and moving his fingers so _slowly_ inside him for so long that Pat almost starts to wonder if he’s come up with something different, or he’s changed his mind, or —

He moves quick enough that Pat reels from it, taking his fingers away and replacing them with his cock. Pat moans into the pillow as Brian grabs him by the hips, rocks into him. He’s been worked up for fucking _forever_ by now, and doesn’t have any shame left to hold back the sounds he makes as Brian fucks into him. Brian, on the other hand — flawless Brian, Brian who can do anything and make it look _easy,_ Brian who can be fucking Pat at full throttle and still talk to him with his voice hardly shaking from effort — he moves with goddamn finesse, and doesn’t even bother to touch Pat’s cock.

The thing about Brian is that — even when they’re doing this, even when Brian takes him rough, and with intent to wind him up — there’s such fondness in the undertones. He calls him things like _you little brat_ or _needy bitch_ and says things like,

“God, you fuckin’ troublemaker, pulling this shit just ‘cause you want my cock inside you, I know your game, baby boy,”

And,

“Can’t believe you, you want everyone to know your ass is mine so bad you’re moaning for me on camera at _work,_ could you be any more obvious,”

And pulls his hair _hard_ and digs his fingers into Pat’s hip hard enough for it to hurt, but even so, there’s such affection in his voice, under the way it goes sharp and commanding. Like he can’t possibly be truly angry with him. This is the one punch that Pat prefers Brian keeps pulled, and he does so magnificently, balances it perfectly.

Brian drags his nails down Pat’s back and Pat hisses out a breath at the sting of it. He’s truly subject to Brian’s whims — with his arms bound, he can’t sit up; and Brian’s wiggly and dense and even if Pat could get the leverage to push himself up with his legs he honestly can’t imagine wanting to. He likes it like this, truthfully, with Brian fierce and lovely, holding him down with tooth and nail. The only regrettable thing is he can’t watch him, laid out like this, but he can imagine; his face flushed, his hair sticking to his forehead, damp with sweat. The way his lips part and his eyebrows draw together when he’s really focused.

“Pat, baby, you sound real pretty moaning for me like that, but I really think that if you’re able to say such things in public, you should be able to say them to me in bed. Don’t you think? I think you should be begging for me, kitten.”

He pauses, waiting for a response, but Pat can’t manage to find his words fast enough — he gets another slap to the ass for his trouble, and a hand tightening in the hair at the nape of his neck. “I said _beg,_ Patrick,” Brian snarls, his mouth inches from Pat’s ear, the syllables of his name spat out with menace. “Or do you think you’re too good for it now?”

“No, no, promise I don’t,” Pat gasps, when Brian pulls at his hair again, “please, daddy, I want you so _so_ bad, please fuck me —”

“I _am_ fucking you,” Brian says, and snaps his hips forward. Pat moans. “You really are a needy bitch, taking my cock and still begging for more.”

Pat whines — this fucker and his _double standards,_ he can’t fucking win with him. Brian huffs out a short laugh and wraps his hand around Pat’s cock, gives it a few quick pumps, but as soon as Pat gives a desperate sort of cry, Brian’s hand disappears.

“Please, please, _please,”_ Pat chants, a desperate edge to his voice.

“Mm. Please what, baby boy?”

“Please, daddy, I need you,” he says.

“I know you do,” Brian says — _smug asshole_ — and pulls Pat’s hair to turn his head to the side. He’s breathing hard as Brian studies him, like he’s looking for something he can’t quite find. He gives a neutral sort of _hm._ “Yeah, nope.”

“Wh —” Pat starts, and then Brian lets go of him, backs away, pulls out — Pat fucking _keens_ in desperation — and sits back to watch Pat struggle.

“Watch your feet, baby,” Brian croons, dropping his arm onto Pat’s ankles and holding his legs down. “Don’t kick.”

Pat gives a wordless cry as he writhes, tries to — to — _something_ , to move, to get closer to Brian, to get friction on his cock, something, _anything_ —

“Talk to me, baby,” Brian says, still holding him down.

Pat gasps for breath. “Fuck — _fuck,_ I — I need — something, anything, I need, please, _please_ come back and fuck me more, daddy, I — _god_ — I feel so empty without you inside me —”

That does it. Brian grabs Pat by the thigh and flips him onto his back. He’s breathing hard; both of them are.

“You’re _mine,_ Pat Gill,” Brian says, low and rough, against the side of Pat’s neck. He gets his mouth on — shit, definitely a mark that’s already there, works at it with his mouth for a long moment before he sits back up. He takes a brief pause to check in, make sure Pat’s comfortable, make sure everything’s still situated right, and then they’re off again.

Brian pushes into him again, easy, and doesn’t hesitate before resuming with his previous vigor. He grabs Pat’s thigh, thumbnail digging into the soft skin there, a spark of pain counterbalancing the tidal wave of sensation as Brian pounds into him. It’s good, it’s so good; he wants it so bad, wants Brian to push him over that edge and make him cry out his name, how’s he gonna get him there —

He hardly has the time to wonder before Brian wraps his fingers around the base of Pat’s cock — not moving, just _holding,_ just enough to drive him wild, make him try to buck his hips but he can’t fucking move with Brian holding him still like this. Brian smiles at him, fierce, smug, and rests his other hand against the base of Pat’s throat again, just like earlier.

He’s not even pressing in anywhere, just touching, but Pat’s breath catches anyway. He bets Brian can feel his pulse racing under his fingers, where they rest over the vein there. He’s held down several times over — his arms tied, a hand around his cock and another on his neck; he can’t move, can’t fight against him, no matter how urgently he wants, _needs,_ no matter how desperate horny tears prick at his eyes.

“Oh, beautiful boy,” Brian breathes. He squeezes Pat’s cock and Pat half-sobs. “You’re doing so good, you sweet pretty thing. Come on, tell daddy what you want.”

“Please let me come, daddy, please, I need — I need — I — fuck, _fuck, yes, daddy, yes_ —”

He cuts himself off gasping for air as Brian jerks him off, hard and fast. Oh, Christ, that wailing is his very own goddamn self, unintelligible begging syllables slurred together, high and desperate, as — as — as —

He comes so hard he might very fucking well see stars, tears on his face and Brian’s name in his mouth.

It takes him a long, long moment to pull himself back to coherency, to catch his breath. Brian is sitting so very still, so very patient, so carefully not moving that Pat almost forgets he’s still, holy shit, balls-deep inside him until he registers the way Brian’s chewing on his lip, as his brain kicks back into gear to process sensation, and okay holy _fuck_ —

“I know we said — before — I just wanted to check if you were okay if I keep going — you went offline for a good few seconds there,” Brian says; his voice is strained, but other than that, he is doing a very goddamn admirable job of keeping it together, even though Pat knows he must be absolutely fucking dying to finish.

Pat takes a moment to assess. “Yeah, I’m good.”

“Do you want me to untie you?”

“Nah. Go for it. Kiss me first?”

Brian leans down and kisses him, one hand cupping Pat’s cheek, tender and gentle and sweet. Pat licks at him to get him to open his mouth and his lips part easily; this permission was clearly what Brian needed to tilt his head a little and fuck his tongue into Pat’s mouth and kiss him sloppy and rough, too much teeth, overeager. It’s so, so fun to get Brian riled up like this, panting against Pat’s mouth.

“Can I — please,” Brian gasps, “Are you good if I —?”

“Yeah, c’mon, daddy,” Pat says, and grins against Brian’s lips when Brian moans at that.

“Brat,” Brian says, fondly.

“You love me.”

“I _do._ Shut up and let me fuck you, baby boy.”

Pat very, very admirably manages not to laugh — well, actually, it’s because Brian starts to move again and he fucking _whimpers_ at him, because holy shit yeah it’s a _lot._ But it’s good, it’s really good, even though he’s so sensitive that everything is amplified hundredfold, so much it aches but in a way he can lean into and _take._

Brian’s got to be close; Pat knows his tells, the way his moans hitch and his chest heaves with his breathing. He drops down onto all fours over Pat, his head down — gosh, Pat would love to get his hands in his hair right now — and fucks into him with earnest abandon, with grunts of effort, his eyes closed and his hands clenched into fists on the sheets.

His whole body shudders when he comes; he’s well past the point of words, just gives a grateful cry of a sound when his orgasm finally hits him. He stays still, afterwards, just lowering himself a little to rest his head on Pat’s chest.

“Fuck, Pat Gill,” he murmurs, and Pat laughs softly. “That was incredible. You’re incredible. Please don’t keep pulling this kind of shit to make me do this again, I’ll _die.”_

“I don’t think I’ll be able to pull it off again without someone calling me on it, unless I want to lean into it like Simone, and I’m _not_ making that my brand. Untie me, please?”

“Oh, shit,” Brian says, and quickly sits up — pulls out carefully, mindful of how Pat’s breathing stutters a little bit, oversensitive; he winces when Pat makes a little involuntary whimper when he moves too carelessly, but Pat gives a little shake of the head to wave off his concern.

Not a single power in the universe could prevent Pat from pulling Brian into a tight hug the very moment he is free to do so. Brian laughs and hugs him back, nuzzling his face against the side of Pat’s neck.

“Hi, baby, you did so good,” Brian says. Pat can feel him smiling against his skin. “I love you so much.”

“I love _you_ so much,” Pat says back. “Thank you.”

“Aw, Pat, c’mon, baby. You don’t have to thank me for anything, you know that.”

“I meant thanks for putting up with my bullshit at work.”

“Okay, that’s closer to meriting gratitude,” Brian teases, and kisses Pat’s jaw. He sits back a little, and taps Pat’s nose sternly. “You better behave yourself, mister.”

“Or else what?” Pat says, grinning.

“Mm, nothing nice,” Brian says. He kisses Pat’s cheek. “Probably.”

“I’m _so_ scared,” Pat says. He catches Brian in a quick kiss, between both of them smiling like dorks at each other.

“You better be! Next time I’ll tickle you ‘till you’re begging for mercy, bet you won’t like that _half_ as much.”

“Okay, what, no, that’s actually mean!” Pat pouts. Brian laughs. “You’re no fun.”

“Uh, excuse you! What was this?”

“Definitely super mean and punishing and I am _so-oooo_ very sorry and contrite about my behavior,” Pat says, batting his eyelashes at Brian for good measure. Brian throws his head back in laughter.

“You little shit! You’re not sorry, not even a little,” Brian says, quite happily.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, daddy,” Pat says, with his very best pout.

“God I hate you,” Brian says, very badly losing the battle against a smile. “I can’t believe you’ve turned into such a brat.”

“That’s my secret,” Pat says, and kisses the corner of Brian’s mouth, “I’ve been a brat the whole time.”

“God damn it. I should’ve known.”

“That’s what you get for not reading the fine print,” Pat quips. “Can we shower? I don’t know about you but I am so fucking sweaty and I would like to, uh, to not be.”

“You really know how to woo a man, Pat Gill,” Brian says, and Pat rolls his eyes. “Come on, baby, I’ll wash your hair for you and everything.”

“You’re such a sweetheart,” Pat says, snuggling his face against Brian’s shoulder as Brian sits up. “Too nice to me.”

“No such thing, pretty boy.” Brian pauses, and turns to Pat, cups his face in his hand. “Hey, you know I’m really not upset with you, right? I thought it was funny. I think everyone else did, too. And it was, y’know. Kinda hot, seeing you flirt with what you should and shouldn’t be doing.”

“To be honest, I really didn’t even think before I ran my fuckin’ mouth,” Pat admits.

“I figured, to be honest,” Brian says, with a little smile. He kisses Pat’s forehead. “I love you and the weird goddamn things you say.”

“I’d hope so, since you’re stuck with me.”

“Mm. Sure am,” Brian says, and kisses Pat slow and sweet. Pat sighs, and when Brian pulls away, he drops his head against Brian’s shoulder. “Oh, no you don’t. Don’t you dare get sleepy on me now, Patrick Gill!” He nudges Pat away and stands, then takes Pat’s hands and tugs his reluctant boyfriend to his feet. Pat dramatically slouches against Brian, who laughs and wraps his arms around Pat’s waist.

“You’re sweaty,” Pat complains.

“See! Shower. Come on,” Brian says, and manhandles Pat out of the bedroom. He grabs at Pat’s ribs and Pat squawks indignantly, ticklish, and then chases after a cackling Brian to the bathroom trying to get his revenge.

He gets his revenge, later, under the warm water, as Brian kisses him slow and hot and sweet; Pat traces light fingertips over Brian’s sides and he shrieks and almost (accidentally) smacks Pat in the face.

“Gotcha,” Pat says, grinning.

“I _hate_ you,” Brian groans, resting his head against Pat’s shoulder in despair.

“No you don’t.”

“Ugh, shut up, let me wash your hair, you awful sneak,” Brian says, pushing at Pat until he moves.

“I love you,” Pat singsongs.

“I love you too,” Brian sighs, feigning exasperation, but Pat can hear the smile in his voice. He’s not looking at him, but he can’t stop smiling either. God, he’s so fucking lucky to have this man in his life. He wishes he knew how to put that into words, without sounding overbearing, without sounding sappy, without getting too emotional for the silly moment. He takes Brian’s hand and squeezes it tight.

He’ll tell him anyway, though, when they’re curled together under the covers, kissing, whispering soft important things to each other that are more easily said in the dark, in the dead of night. He knows, certainly. But Pat will tell him again, and again.

Brian squeezes Pat’s hand in return, and pulls him close.

**Author's Note:**

> [polygon investigates voice] fuck u pat  
> i had to drop EVERYTHING THAT I WAS WRITING to write THIS INSTEAD. AWFUL
> 
> @segmentcalled on twitter if you would like to see me DESPAIR about what an awful disaster this man is constantly. comment if you req to lmk who you are! comments as always moderated and deleted as requested ♥


End file.
